Chapter 40
LINCOLN
“Two hours, and then I’ll be back to pick you up,” I say.
“Come onnn, Dad. Please? I haven’t played video games with Jagger all week. Two hours in game time is like two minutes,” my son pouts.
“I remember when you liked to play video games with me,” I grumble, walking up to Easton and Alba’s porch with Jules by my side.
Jagger invited Cameron over for a sleepover tonight. But tonight is one of the few nights over the past few weeks that I haven’t been caught up in work. So, I’m not feeling particularly willing to part with my son at the moment.
Call me selfish, but I’m missing my little guy. So instead of just saying ‘no’, I’m trying to compromise by letting him hang out with his cousin for a couple hours.
“I still do like playing with you!” Cameron argues. “I promise! I just also like winning sometimes.”
That makes me laugh. He’s got a good point.
Jules nudges her elbow into my ribs. “See? I told you. If you let the little booger win every once in a while, he’d want to hang out with you more.”
“Nah. I’m too competitive,” I whisper loud enough for Cameron to hear. “Besides, I can’t let the guy get a big head or anything.”
He cuts his eyes at me, folding his arms across his chest.
I cave. “Fine. Three hours, and that’s my final answer.”
“Okay, fine.” He perks up a little bit.
I ruffle his hair. “Be ready to go when we get back to pick you up.” I give him a kiss on the head.
Jules wraps Cameron up in a big hug after I say my goodbyes, and I hear him whispering to her, “Try to push him to three and a half hours.”
She chuckles into his hair. “You’re turning into a master negotiator, huh?”
I agree. He clearly inherited those genes from me.
“Pretty please.” Cameron clasps his hands over his chest.
Jules winks at the little turd, perfectly willing to conspire with my son against me. “I got you.”
He throws himself at her for another hug. He tips his head up and grins so wide he almost loses his balance. “Thanks, Jules. My dad has been so much more fun since you came to live with us.”
And my heart goes pop! inside my chest. Because seeing my kid this happy? It’s what every dad lives for.
Easton opens the door. I watch, standing there shaking my head as Cameron practically bounces into my brother’s house without so much as a glance back. Such a punk.
Jules and I head back home after that. We’re sitting on the porch swing, trying to figure out what to do now that we’re kid-less for a few hours.
“What are you hungry for?” I ask.
“I could cook something…” she shrugs. “But the lasagna pans are still soaking from last night.”
I groan. “Bleh. We are not doing dishes tonight.”
She giggles. “And after a long day, I’m not really up for cooking a big meal anyway.”
“So, delivery it is.” I reach into my pocket for my phone to place our order.
“Wait!” Jules gets a troublemaking look in her eyes as she quickly hops up. “I have a better idea.”
I give her a wary glance. “What could possibly be better than having dinner cooked and delivered right to our front door?”
She sends me a sexy grin over her shoulder as she darts down the steps and hops on her moped. I follow after her, and she tosses me the spare helmet.
Despite my brain going haywire with every possible safety hazard, I manage to catch the helmet before it hits me in the gut. “Are you serious right now?” I ask my wife.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Why?” She pouts.
I list out my reasons on my fingers. “Zero stability. No airbags. Minimal ground clearance. Gimme a sec. I just need to fire up my laptop and triple check my life insurance policy before hopping on the back of your death mobile.”
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.” She tilts her head to the side, staring at me expectantly.
I stare back.
She’s not budging.
The fact that my wife is just as stubborn as I am is both something I love and hate. As frustrating as it is when she won’t let me have my way, I also enjoy that she keeps me on my toes.
“Okay, fine. If we’re doing this, I’m driving.” The only thing that’ll make me feel remotely better is being in control of this bad boy.
She throws her head back and laughs. “No way, Mario Andretti. This isn’t the Grand Prix. You’re going to sit that sexy butt behind me, you’re going to hold on, and you’re going to trust me.” She pats the cushion and gives me a look that double-dares me to go on this adventure with her.
Trust. She wants me to trust her. Can I do that?
If anyone had asked me that question a month ago, the answer would have been a resounding ‘no’. But I stare into the depths of those magical brown eyes now, and realize that I can. I do.
I trust Jules with my life. With my heart.
Sighing exaggeratedly, I shove the helmet over my head and climb into my seat, fully aware of the fact that my ass hangs off the end.
“You ready?” she chirps excitedly, gripping the handlebars.
A nervous chuckle shoots out of me. “Uh…”
She laughs out loud. “You might want to hang on, Mr. Button-Up.” She reaches back, grabs one of my hands and places it on her hip. “Better hold onto your wife. Turning those corners might get tricky.”
“Oh, in that case…” I slide both hands up her waist and under her T-shirt, higher and higher until I grab two handfuls of her breasts. Her warm, bare skin feels so good that I briefly forget the imminent danger I’m in.
The feel of her nipples hardening under my palms momentarily distracts me from my fear of dying. Jules seizes the opportunity to hit the gas.
With my startled yelp, we roll down the driveway. All traces of my horniness vanish in the dust that’s kicking up behind us as we move onto the street.
Jules starts out slow and easy, but I feel the shift as we’re picking up speed. We meander down the tree-lined roads and eventually leave our little neighborhood.
At first, my hands clench tightly onto the sides of her leather jacket, but as the wind whips at my face and the little engine rumbles through my thighs, my tense muscles actually begin to relax.
This…isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
“You like that?” Jules shouts over her shoulder.
“Hating every second of it.” I shout in response all while grinning behind her back. And even though she doesn’t see it, the shift in my body language must be obvious. She must sense it, because she picks up speed.
It’s not bad at all. In fact, it’s kind of exhilarating. Instead of feeling afraid, I feel alive.
Every hill, every curve in the road, every rev of the engine…I feel it all the way through my bones.
I stop thinking about work. About the business deal that’s taking forever to close.
About the clients I’m going to have to transition.
I stop thinking about the new front tires I need to get for my car.
And the fact that I have to schedule someone to come out and do maintenance on the HVAC.
Or that the deadline’s coming up for Cameron’s basketball league.
All of it settles into the back of my brain.
Nothing matters at twenty-five miles per hour with the smell of cut grass and Jules’s signature shampoo in my face.
Freedom.
That’s what I feel. For the first time in such a long time, I actually feel…free.
Free from the stresses and obligations and responsibilities that lock me down day and night.
The only thing on my mind now is how cool the wind feels on my face, the breathtaking sun that’s dipping below the horizon, and… Jules.
I’ve spent my life chasing money and power and big city success, only to find freedom while clinging to my fake wife on a laughably small scooter on the backroads of the small town I grew up in.
There’s some painfully ridiculous irony in there somewhere.
If I weren’t so relaxed, I’d probably pro-con the shit out of the situation so my brain can make sense of it.
“Wanna stop and pick up some burgers and shakes to take home?” Jules asks, raising her voice over her shoulder when we roll up to a stop sign in the middle of town.
“Sounds good to me,” I shout back.
“You’ll have to hold onto all the food though. Without falling off,” she says in warning.
I hadn’t thought about that tricky part. But I’m up for the challenge. “Bring it on. I’ve got dare devil blood running through me now.”
It’s the truth. No one has ever challenged me the way Jules has. The funny thing is, every challenge she throws my way makes me into a better version of myself. She makes me braver. She makes me more resourceful, more resilient. She forces me to be more honest with myself.
She has no idea what a gift she’s been to me.
Her carefree laughter carries on the air as we head for the local diner. We’re in and out, with our easy dinner in tow.
As we’re strolling back toward the moped, I point to Lucky Clover Bridge in the distance up ahead. “How about a picnic?”
“I like the way you think, husband.” Yet another thrill shoots through me when Jules calls me that.
We hop back onto the scooter and I wrap my arms around her, loving the way her body feels against me. Warm. Soft. Mine.
I get caught up, letting my hands roam all over her curves once more. She rocks back against my crotch and electricity shoots through my system. I groan in my throat and squeeze her breast.
Again, Jules takes advantage of my distraction, hitting the gas and making me yelp. I can hear her cackling in front of me as she makes a turn toward Lucky Clover Bridge up ahead and speeds up once more.
“Dammit, woman!” I screech.
And I’m hooked. In every sense of the word.